Sighing, she decided to treat his question as an honest inquiry.
“Control, Your Grace,” she said, with a matter of fact tone. “I do not care to surrender control of my life. Really, it is as simple as that.”
The Duke nodded and pursed his lips as he considered what she had told him.
Without thinking, Rebecca asked, “And you, Your Grace? Why haven’t you married?”
She wanted to bite back the question as soon as the words had left her mouth. Do not forget, she told herself. This is a Duke. Despite the kiss they shared. That did not mean she was his equal.
Holding her breath, she waited for him to answer. His brow narrowed like it always did when he became serious. At last, he smiled at her.
“I don’t like the idea of surrendering control,” he said.
She harrumphed, then frowned, was he teasing her?
“No Miss Jones, I am serious,” he said. “I have seen too many men lose control of their lives simply to avoid the sharp tongue of a shrew or harpy.”
Rebecca shook her head. Typical, she thought. He thought women were shrews.
“But, Your Grace,” she responded, “a man has all the power in any marriage. He controls the finances, He decides where they live, can take a mistress, and no one blink an eye. He can even beat his wife, and almost no one will stop him.”
The Duke winced at the mention of men beating their wives. She knew perfectly well that he was not such a man. But, that did not change the fact that men controlled women’s lives.
“That is one way to see it. And, while I agree, there are many such marriages. Too many.” The Duke paused for a moment, “Too often, though, I see men of means brought to poverty by a wife spending his money to obtain status. It becomes almost a fever, this need for status. She will drive him to work harder, to provide more. All the while demeaning what he has done already. It is never enough.
“Much like a horse fearing the whip,” the Duke continued, “he will drive himself into the ground to avoid her biting tongue.”
Rebecca laughed at the absurdity of men needing to fear anything from a woman.
“I find it hard to imagine a man such as yourself ever allowing himself to be dictated to by a woman.”
The Duke smiled at her, his eyes locking on hers for a moment. “I don’t know, the right woman, who could tell?”
She blushed and looked down quickly.
“Besides,” he continued, “there are further drawbacks to marriage. Your wife becomes a hostage of fortune.”
“What do you mean?” she asked.
“Every decision, every act, everything you do. A man must take his wife’s well-being into account. Will this risk my wife’s well-being? If I go this way, what will she think? Do I risk her good fortune, her life, if I make a mistake?
She raised an eyebrow as she considered his words.
“Miss Jones, up until I obtained my title. If I made a mistake, I hurt no one but myself. I could do what I want, could spend my money as I wished. There was no one else to worry about.
“It seems rather lonely,” she said as her frown deepened.
“True,” he said. “But then, marriage also requires monogamy,” he shuddered, then looked at her for a moment. “Again, though, the right woman could make even that palatable.”
Rebecca’s stomach clenched up. How had they gotten onto the subjects such as these?
“I thought,” Rebecca said, “most marriages of the ton were quite open. At least once an heir was provided. In fact, I had heard that monogamy was the exception not the rule for the nobility.”
He laughed and nodded. “You are correct. From what I have seen, few men or women abide by their vows. But then, what should you expect when most marriages are more business contracts vice love matches?”
Rebecca was quiet for a moment as she considered what he had said. A question burned at her. Again, her mouth acted before she could stop it.
“Forgive me Your Grace, but I must say that what you say does not match with your reputation. Most men do not concern themselves with remaining faithful.”
He laughed, “Perhaps. But, I must tell you, Miss Jones. While, I have led an interesting life, shall we say? No woman has ever sat alone in a darkened room, waiting for me to return home. I have never made promises that I didn’t keep. My companions have always known who I was and what part of me they could have. As for monogamy, I’ve always found a man who is unfaithful to his wife is lacking something. I find it un-honorable.”
She frowned, then asked, “then why? Your Grace. Why do they risk their hearts? Why do some women risk scandal?” She desperately wanted to know.
Holding her breath, she waited for him to answer. She couldn’t believe she was having this conversation with him. Of all people, he would be the last with whom she would have chosen to discuss the mores of the London ladies.
He threw his head back and laughed. A hearty laugh that let her know he hadn’t been offended.
“Oh, Miss Jones,” he said with a wide smile. “Someday you might learn that there are some things worth risking your heart for.”
She turned red and quickly looked away. The insufferable oaf. He thought her an innocent maid. As someone without the experience to understand such mature subjects.
While it was true, she had never experienced physical love. The kind between a wife and husband. That did not mean she was blind. She had seen women ruined by allowing themselves to be used. Men who had discarded them. Other men, who refused to associate with them except for one purpose.
She well knew the way the world worked. A man could do whatever he wanted. But, if a woman did so, her life would forever be changed. Most men would refuse to marry her. Many would refuse to even hire her.
No, it was a poor choice for a woman.
Yet, still she wondered. What would it be like? Her curiosity burned deep inside of her. To feel that special release she had heard about. To feel like a real woman for the first time in her life.
The Duke was looking at her now, as if he wanted her. Wanted to be the one to share that experience with her. To be the one to make her feel special.
The carriage hit another bump, and she was tossed to the side a few inches. Enough for her knee to brush his. A warm tingle traveled up her leg to her very core.
How could a simple touch bring such emotions racing to her heart? Her breath hitched, and the coach felt quite warmer.
She removed her fan from her reticule and began to rapidly move it back and forth. Desperately trying to ignore the thoughts racing through her mind.
Looking out the window, the countryside continued to pass them by.
The Duke was silent as he looked out his window. She wondered what he was thinking about.
They had traveled almost ten miles from Pine Crest when they hit a larger than normal bump.
A mighty crack exploded from underneath the carriage as the vehicle tipped to the side.
Rebecca screamed as she was thrown from her seat into the Duke himself. His heavy grunt let her know she had struck a sensitive spot.
She could hear Tomas yelling at the horses from his box as the carriage leaned more and more. Balancing for a moment, then continued on, over onto its side.
A ripping roar exploded as it landed. Dirt and grass flew in through the open windows as the vehicle was pulled along the ground on its side.
The Duke’s arms wrapped around her waist as he shifted to protect her from the rushing ground. She felt her heart beat against his chest. Smelled the combinations of sandalwood and fresh grass. A thousand thoughts flew into her mind, but all she could think about was the arm surrounding her. The hard body beneath her, and how he instinctively tried to protect her.
The world was ending around her, and all she wanted to do was stay there for the rest of her life.
At last, the carriage stopped. Dust, grass, and dirt showered them.
Tomas cursed, James called to him. Her heart released for a beat to know that they were all
right.
The Duke? She thought. Was he hurt? He had taken the brunt of the crash. Trapped between the wall of the carriage and her landing on him like a sack of milled flour. She worried about his shoulder, only recently healed. Was it once again injured?
Pushing back, she had to pull her bonnet aside. His eyes twinkled with mirth as he looked at her.
“Are you injured?” he asked. His voice sounded concerned. Belying the laughter that danced behind that look.
Rebecca sighed with relief. She could feel the warmth from his arm around her. Could feel the muscles of his strong shoulders, the steady beat of his heart against her chest.
Her heart raced. Matching his, beat for beat. She had been so afraid.
Seeing that he was uninjured. She did the only thing she could. She buried her head on his chest and hugged him as hard as she could.
Chapter Sixteen
Devlin felt his world shift. Miss Jones had almost been killed. The thought of losing her sent a cold shiver down his spine. Instinctively, he returned her embrace.
It was as if they were holding onto each other to keep the world at bay. Just the two of them, alone in the universe. This was not a mere amorous embrace. This wasn’t two people sharing a fleeting moment. This was two people sharing an experience. Realizing how close they had come to death, and seizing the other, to protect and preserve.
A quietness invaded the coach. A silence that surrounded them. Dirt and grass had piled up underneath him as he lay against the carriage wall. But, he didn’t move, didn’t try to scramble away. Instead, he rested there with Miss Jones in his arms. Feeling her warm, soft body pressed against him. It was a feeling to hold forever. A prize to be treasured.
The carriage door above them flew open. James, the footman, stuck his head through the opening. His eyes large with fright.
“Your Grace? Miss Jones?” he said. “Are you injured?”
His eyes searched through the dark, fearing the answer.
“We are perfectly well,” Devlin said with a regretful sigh. “Isn’t that right, Miss Jones?”
He gave her a slight squeeze to bring her back to this world. She lifted her head and slowly nodded. “Yes, I am fine.”
“Here, help her up, James,” Devlin said as they both scrambled to stand upright in the sideways carriage.
James reached into the coach, Miss Jones reached up and grabbed both of his hands. He began to lift, but she couldn’t find a purchase for her feet.
Seeing her distress, Devlin did the only thing he could think of and placed both hands on her bottom and pushed her up through the door.
Miss Jones squealed at his liberties, but she quickly made her way through the door and out of his range of sight. Devlin felt a slight loss at her absence as he scanned the carriage to ensure nothing had been left behind.
He retrieved Miss Jones’ reticule, she’d obviously lost it in the disaster. Brushing it free of twigs and dirt, he slid it into the pocket of his coat.
Reaching up, he gripped the outside of the carriage and pulled himself through the door. His sore shoulder twinging with the effort.
The outside air tasted of freshness and freedom. He took a deep breath and reset himself before jumping down off the carriage to join the others.
“I’m sorry, Your Grace,” Tomas said with a sheepish, hound dog look.
“Do not worry, Tomas, these things happen,” Devlin said as he wiped the dirt from his shoulder. He wasn’t hurt, not seriously, but he knew his shoulder would ache for the next few days. He was much more worried about Miss Jones. She had been thrown quite a distance. Luckily into his arms. In many ways, he couldn’t have planned it better.
Hiding a smile, he turned to look at her. The woman was rearranging her garments without being seen as rearranging her garments. Once she had her bonnet set correctly, and her dress aligned properly. She looked up and caught him looking at her. A faint pink blush jumped to her cheeks.
The woman was amazing, he thought. Within moments of almost dying and she was worried about propriety. Shaking his head, he tried not to laugh.
“Tomas, James, are you all right? The horses?” Devlin asked.
“We are fine, Your Grace,” James said. “I was able to jump clear before the carriage went over. The same with Tomas. It was lucky we were going uphill, and the horses were tired. It could have been so much worse if we had been going downhill at full clip.”
Devlin thought of the tight bends and shear drop offs they had passed earlier. If the carriage had gone over at that point, they would all be dead. Resting at the bottom of some cliff until the next traveler happened upon them.
“Yes, well, I am glad to hear that you are un-injured,” Devlin said. “What now?” he asked as he turned to look at the underside of the carriage.
The wooden axle lay in splinters where it had broken next to the wheel hub. The far wheel had rolled into the field some distance away. He shuddered at the sight.
“James will have to go into Dewberry, Your Grace,” Tomas, the coachman said. “He’ll have to try and find a wheelwright worth his salt to come out and fix the carriage.”
Miss Jones’ face fell into a frown, probably at the thought of walking five miles to a strange village. Devlin thought of the fine slippers she was wearing, they’d be useless rags before they made a mile.
“I will stay here with the horses and the baggage, Your Grace,” Tomas said, “until he returns.” Left unsaid was that it would be several hours before the carriage could be fixed.
Devlin’s brow narrowed as he tried to come up with a solution that would make life easier for Miss Jones. There was no reason that she should be made to suffer.
At that moment, a distant thunderclap echoed through the valley. Devlin glanced that way to see a heavy gray cloud formation rolling their way.
Great, they were going to be soaked within minutes.
He turned about and surveyed the countryside for any sign of shelter or protection.
“Your Grace,” James said, “there is an empty farmhouse, just back behind the last bend. We passed it only moments ago. You could rest there, we will let you know when the carriage is repaired and ready to go on.
“Or, James could send an extra wagon to come out and retrieve you, sir,” Tomas said as he glanced to the approaching storm.
Devlin hesitated. “How do you know the farm is empty?” he asked. He and Miss Jones seeking shelter and being welcomed by a friendly farmer and his wife would be perfectly acceptable. He and Miss Jones sharing an empty home together would be sure to raise eyebrows.
“It’s old John Sawyer’s place,” James said. “He passed on, last Christmas, Your Grace.”
Devlin raised an eyebrow at his servant’s knowledge of the local neighborhood.
Miss Jones looked back and forth between the two of them. Her eyes narrowed with concern as if they were deciding the future, her future.
James, seeing the Duke’s curiosity, smiled and said, “This is my home, sir. I was born in Dewberry. My mam likes to keep me informed. Her letters are always filled with the latest news and gossip.”
Devlin nodded in understanding. He was sure that Pine Crest almost always obtained its staff from the locals.
“Won’t the new owner be upset that we barge into the place? I’m sure they wouldn’t be pleased.”
“Yes,” Miss Jones said as if grasping at the last life line. “I am sure they would be rather upset.”
“Actually,” James said to Miss Jones, “People would understand. Besides, it’s not really a problem as the property is owned by the Duke. John Sawyer was a tenant, Your Grace.”
Devlin glanced at Miss Jones, her face had lost that pink glow and turned a chalky white. Did the thought of being alone with him terrify her that much? What was it about him that she found so distressing?
He was preparing to tell them that they would wait with the carriage when the wind shifted, and the first few drops began to fall.
Turning to Miss Jones, he raised
an eyebrow in question. “I do think we should run for the house. I do despise bad weather.
She hesitated a moment, biting her lip as if trying to muster the strength. At last, she squared her shoulders and nodded.
Smiling to himself, he asked if Tomas and James would be all right in the rain.
“We are dressed for the weather,” Tomas said. “You and Miss Jones are not. You should hurry. We will come and get you as soon as everything is fixed and prepared.”
“Here, Your Grace,” James said as he retrieved a small bundle from the top of the carriage. “Mrs. Owens packed a small lunch. Take it, for you and Miss Jones. I will get something in Dewberry for myself and Tomas.”
Devlin took the small bundle and nodded his appreciation. These men really did care for his well-being.
The heavy black clouds had moved over the top of them and were threatening to erupt. Turning, he took Miss Jones’ hand and began to lead her back down the path.
She looked at him with fear and trepidation, but she followed.
They moved quickly. The cloud moved even quicker. Within moments, the skies opened, and they were quickly drenched.
“Run!” he yelled.
Miss Jones dropped his hand so that she could raise the hem of her dress. Jumping puddles and weaving around muddy patches, she began to run. Devlin laughed out loud and quickly joined her.
They continued to run in tandem. Stride for stride, as the rain drenched them, head to foot. The air tingled. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up. A flash of lightning behind them was followed almost immediately by a thunderous explosion.
His heart began to race as he glanced over at Miss Jones, expecting to see her in shock. Instead, she glanced back at him with a large grin, her eyes dancing with merriment.
She was enjoying this, he realized. His soul was so shocked that he stumbled and almost fell. Laughing even louder, he righted himself and rejoined her in the race to the house.
Miss Jones squealed with delight as she raced up the path. The small farmhouse, made of stone, with a thatched roof, was nestled amongst a few trees. Wood shutters barred the windows, and a dilapidated old barn sat empty to the side.
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